


Death and Chocolate

by bonzai_bunny



Category: Death Note, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Porn, Canonical Character Death, Gun Kink, M/M, One Night Stands, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonzai_bunny/pseuds/bonzai_bunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Vash ever saw the kid was during a diplomatic visit to the United Kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> This is a kink meme reupload. I have to say this is also one of my favorite things I've ever written. I know the premise sounds weird but trust me on this.

The first time Vash ever saw the kid was during a diplomatic visit to the United Kingdom. England was giving him, and a few other officials, a tour of the Houses of Parliament and there happened to be another school group there. Vash didn’t pay any attention at first, not wanting to be there at all, but a loud shout of “Mello!” from one of the group’s teachers caught his attention.   
  
Vash looked up in time to feel the kid collide into his midsection with an “umf!” as another kid, a redhead with large goggles around his neck, trailed behind and stopped before he reached Vash.   
  
The kid who had run into him, with long blonde hair nearly covering his eyes and a too-big black tee-shirt, looked up, their eyes met, and Vash  _knew._  
  
This was one of his citizens. There was no mistaking it; the feeling climbed through him like an electric tickling down his neck and information— _His name was Mihael Keehl, son of a Slovenian immigrant and Swiss native. He was nine years old and was_ —   
  
Vash blinked and looked away, not wanting to get caught in that train of thought and certainly not wanting the kid— _Mihael_ —to realize exactly what he was. Kids were strangely perceptive and the longer they made eye contact, the longer he could possibly catch on.   
  
Eventually, he was saved of this as a teacher, with a tired smile and auburn hair, came up and tugged on the little boy’s shoulder.  
  
“I’m so sorry, sir, Mello can get unruly some times,” she explained, but—Mello, he guessed it was now—was still staring in wonder, still likely feeling his aura.   
  
“Mello, apologize to him, please.”  
  
The kid finally snapped out of it, looked at his teacher, and then looked back at Vash with a scowl.   
  
“I’m sorry you were in my way, mister.”  
  
“Mello!”  
  
Vash grit his teeth, but smiled at the teacher (as a general rule, he hated most kids, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it and the little shit probably knew that).  
  
“It’s okay ma’am, I understand how kids can be.”  
  
The woman smiled gratefully, “Thank you, sir,” and pulled on Mello’s arm and the kid stared a little more before allowing her to drag him as the redheaded kid followed faithfully behind. Vash watched the group of children, and the blonde, a little longer, before his attention had to be brought back to his own group and he buried the scene in the back of his mind as the day progressed.  
  
The second time that Vash saw the kid was quite a few years later. Kira had risen to power, consummated his grip on the world, and the autumn sky was painted red with the blood of those he had slain.   
  
It was a chilly afternoon in New York City and Vash was walking to cool his head. There was a world meeting and the nations had been discussing if there was anything they could do to stop Kira (America in particular was concerned because of his large prison population dying) because it was unlikely Kira knew of their existence, but none of them knew if he could kill them or not. England, Japan, and Norway knew of the gods that he obtained his killing power from—shinigami—but, because no shinigami was willing to answer their questions, none of them knew if his power extended to nations.  
  
The meeting didn’t go well, like most meetings didn’t. Vash had gotten pissed, yelled, and eventually left, which was why he was walking the streets, trying to keep his nose warm, instead of in his hotel room with his sister.   
  
It was truly an act of fate more than anything for them to cross paths again on a crowded New York City sidewalk. Vash had been walking one way and Mihael—Mello, whatever it was now—had been walking the other.   
  
The kid was a lot older than when Vash last saw him. He wore a black flight jacket, combat boots, and a scowl, and it took awhile for Vash to remember why he seemed to so familiar.   
  
Their eyes met briefly, Vash remembered it, and was struck with this feeling that this citizen was  _special_  somehow. That he was going to do something that would leave a profound impact, which was probably why Vash remembered him out of the thousands of Swiss faces he had seen over the years.   
  
He actually stopped and turned around, curious, because he didn’t get that feeling the first time they met, which meant that something drastic must have changed.   
  
The kid—Mihael, Mello—looked behind him for a split second and their eyes met again.   
  
 _His name was Mihael Keehl, son of a Slovenian immigrant and Swiss native. He was sixteen years old and was seven when his parents were—_  
  
Vash looked away and so did the kid, both of them feeling like too much was being said.  
  
The third, and final time, they met was in Japan oddly enough. The birthplace—or residence, since no one had proven if Kira had been born there—of Kira.   
  
It was another meeting and Vash was in a bar away from the meeting place after they had convened for the day.   
  
He didn’t want to get drunk, just buzzed enough to not be so annoyed by his fellow nations, but it was tempting. He had a beer in his hand when the door opened and when the kid walked in.   
  
Honestly, even if Vash didn’t recognize him, he commanded such attention when he walked in—he reminded Vash of a panther, with his all black leather and his predatory stroll—that it was hard not to stare, regardless.   
  
He had acquired a nasty scar since the last time Vash had saw him, which made him just as conspicuous as his blonde hair, sunglasses, and leather. It looked painful, like it had barely healed, but if the kid knew that everyone was staring at him—and he likely did—he didn’t seem to care.   
  
He strode up to the bar, ordered sake in rough Japanese, and sat a seat away from Vash. From that closeness, Vash could see the rosary dangling out in front of the kid’s open jacket, which surprised him a little, honestly. He supposed he should have known it, but he would have never labeled the kid as Catholic.   
  
In the midst of his musings, Vash didn’t realize he was staring so long that the kid had noticed and looked back at him with a scowl.   
  
“The fuck you lookin’ at?”   
  
Vash grit his teeth, but bit his tongue, not wanting to start a confrontation. Instead, he muttered, “Nothing,” and looked away. He took a sip of his beer and pretended like he couldn’t feel the heavy gaze of the other as he likely felt Vash’s nation-aura.   
  
“...Do I know you?” The kid eventually asked and Vash cursed inwardly.   
  
“No,” he answered and then hastily added, “I mean, probably not. I get that a lot.”   
  
But the kid’s interest had been piqued.   
  
“You sure? It definitely feels like I’ve met you before.”  
  
Vash shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, considering how palpable the other’s suspicion was.   
  
“Not positive, but it’s really unlikely that we’ve ever met.”  
  
The other seemed to absorb this before going to his drink that had just been placed in front of him. Vash gave an internal sigh of relief as the kid seemed to accept this and focused on his alcohol, giving Vash the chance to do the same.  
  
A couple of drinks later and the unfortunate side-effects followed. He might or might not have broken his promise to only get buzzed. The room became warmer, Vash’s sense of secrecy lessoned and apparently, both of their tongues were loosened a little, which was the only explanation Vash could give when their unspoken vow of silence was broken after Vash ordered another drink.  
  
“You know, your accent is really weird.”  
  
Vash froze for a second, a little caught off guard, but opted to stare in his drink with a “So?”   
  
The kid scowled, “So, where are you from?”  
  
“Switzerland,” he answered, a little defensive.   
  
That seemed to surprise the kid. “Really? What are you doing in Japan?”   
  
Vash got a vague feeling that this wasn’t small talk at all, but an interrogation. He probably should have stopped talking, told the other it was none of his business, but the alcohol powered him forward.   
  
“I’m a representative for the UN. There’s a conference going on right now,” he answered, not exactly lying. “Where are you from? It’s weird to see other westerners.”  
  
“I’m from the States.”   
  
Like Vash, he didn’t expand more on that The kid’s fingers tapped on the table and he looked directly back at the other. “Can you speak English? My Japanese is kinda being exhausted.”   
  
Vash nodded and answered back in English. “Yeah. So what are you doing here from America?”  
  
“I heard Japan had a really sick street racing gig,” the kid said before he took a swig of his drink.   
  
That was a strange answer. And now that Vash thought about it, he was pretty sure the kid wasn’t old enough to drink (some not drunken part of his mind told him the kid was only nineteen). Vash didn’t look like he was either, but he had connections, and the kid seemed to pick up on this.   
  
“You know, you’re really young to be a UN representative.”   
  
An alarm went off in Vash’s head. This was dangerous. This was beyond dangerous—he was fucked. He smiled, but it seemed fake, even to him.   
“You don’t know how many times I get that.”   
  
The kid laughed. His whole demeanor seemed to change, became more relaxed and he gave Vash a look underneath hooded eyes that was strangely sultry.   
  
“I can imagine.”   
  
He moved a seat over, so he was sitting next to Vash, and looked like he had the intention of flirting (Vash himself felt strangely warm with the close presence of the other), when, with a quick move, Vash felt the cold metal of what was obviously a gun pressed against his crotch. His suit pants offered little protection.  
  
“Now who the fuck are you?” The kid hissed in his ear.   
  
After brief panic, Vash answered slowly, calmly, strangely sobered up by the action,  
“My name is Vash Zwingli.” This was dangerous. This was very dangerous. “I’m a representative from Switzerland for the UN.”   
  
“ _Bullshit._ ” The gun pressed harder, and maybe it was the adrenaline rush from the situation, from having a person pointing a gun at him instead of the other way around, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t been laid in quite awhile, or the alcohol, but Vash started to find himself becoming slowly, inexplicably, aroused.  
  
“I’m serious,” he asserted, ignoring the growing warmth where the gun was pressed.   
  
“And besides, you don’t want to do that.”  
  
The kid looked unimpressed. “And why not?”  
  
“Because if you shoot me, you won’t kill me, and you’ll have an entire bar full of witnesses, possibly even video. If the police arrest you for this, whatever you’re doing illegally won’t matter.”  
  
And Vash personally didn’t want to see the kid get arrested. He was supposed to be “special” or whatever and Vash was pretty sure getting arrested didn’t pertain to that.   
  
“Who says I’ll only shoot you in the balls? And the rest doesn’t mean anything; I’ve gotten away with worse.”   
  
Damnit, Vash thought. Even if he wouldn’t die, he knew that getting shot in the balls wouldn’t be pleasant. Especially if the kid decided to shoot him in the head afterwards. He could only think of one bargaining chip if the kid was as immersed in illegal activity as he implied: his nationhood.   
  
“But I won’t die,” Vash asserted, reaching for the other’s bare wrist, so the kid could feel him as a nation. It was easier than trying to explain it to him and the moment their skin touched, the kid jerked back with a, “Holy  _shit_!” gaining that awe-struck look he had when he was nine.  
  
“You probably won’t believe me, but I can tell you I won’t die if you shoot me.”  
  
“Try me,” the kid smirked. He seemed oddly accepting of the fact that Vash wasn’t human. “I’ve dealt with other bullshit like death gods and I don’t see how this is any different. Are you one of them? A shinigami?”  
  
Vash was surprised. After a moment where his own shock melted away, he cleared his throat, figuring that if the kid already knew about shinigami, knowing about the nations wasn’t that big of a deal.  
  
“Okay. I wasn’t lying when I said I was a representative of Switzerland for the UN, but the thing is, I  _am_  Switzerland.”  
  
The kid gave him a blank look.  
  
“I mean, I’m the personification of everything about Switzerland. Its people, its land, its government. That’s why you were able to feel that just now. Because you’re my citizen, and we have a bond together, even if you don’t live in Switzerland anymore.”  
  
The kid seemed to digest this (though Vash really wished he would remove the gun; it was currently pressing against his semi and not helping matters).  
  
“So you’re a country?”   
  
“Well, yes. Basically.”  
  
“Are there more of you?”  
  
“Yes, for every sovereign state. And then some.”  
  
The kid finally withdrew his gun and licked his lips. He looked ahead for a few moments, seeming to be in deep thought and when he looked back at Vash his teal eyes were dancing with that sultry heat that he had looked at before.  
  
“You know, I’ve never fucked a country before.”  
  
Vash stiffened, despite the heat that was worming over his cheeks and in his gut, and scowled, losing any former pretext of being a polite business man.  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
“Hey, I’m not the one who got a boner from having a gun pointed at me. Are all countries that kinky?”  
  
Vash didn’t reply to that, his blush burning even brighter and the kid raised an eyebrow.   
  
“You got a gun fetish? That’s kinda hot.”  
  
“…Are you serious about this?” Vash asked eventually, unsure if he truly was getting hit on or if this was some strange ridicule from the kid. He wasn’t used to the former and as much as he hated to admit it, there was part of him that grew very warm at the thought of being with the other.   
  
“Yeah. I mean, it’s weird, and all, but you’re telling the truth. I can tell. Plus, you’re kinda cute.”  
  
Vash wondered with mingling horror if his own feelings were just being projected upon his citizen, but he looked at the other’s teal eyes and realized there was some genuine feeling flickering behind them. Vash sighed, torn. He didn’t want to take advantage of the other, but he had a feeling, though, that if he passed this up, he would regret it dearly.  
  
“You got a name?”  
  
The kid grinned, “Mello.”  
  
So he truly had dropped the other one.   
  
“Alright, Mello,” he said, trying out the taste of the other’s name on his tongue. “My hotel’s not too far from here.”  
  
\--o0o--  
  
They rode back to Vash’s hotel on Mello’s motorcycle. Vash melted into his back, feeling his heat even through the chilly January air. It really wasn’t that long of a ride and when they made it back, they kissed fiercely in the elevator. They only paused long enough to get out and to allow Vash to put in his key card—all the while he prayed that his sister didn’t decide to spontaneously visit him.  
  
They hit the wall with a slam when the door closed, and Vash relished in the heat of the other’s tongue. It was sweet, like chocolate, with some alcohol mixing in, and he wondered how long it had been since he last slept with one of his humans.   
  
He certainly couldn’t recall a time where he let one of them dominate him. But that was what he was doing, and he didn’t mind. He was too hot, too overwhelmed by the other’s mouth biting various places along his neck. He definitely shivered when they made it to the bed and Mello yanked his hair to kiss him again in that way that was more tongue and teeth than anything else.   
  
Vash panted on the bed after Mello finally rid him of his clothing. His face was flushed; his cock was indescribably hard, and he arched up when two fingers entered him.   
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, partially out of pain—even with lube, Mello wasn’t being gentle—but mostly out of pleasure. He might have been projecting, but he was glad the other shared his appreciation for rough sex.  
  
He groaned when Mello bit the inside of his thigh, hard enough to leave a definite bruise in the morning. He wrapped his skinny legs around the other’s hips and his nails clawed red lines along Mello’s back when he finally entered. It was so hot.   
  
They shared a kiss again—all tongue, all teeth—as Mello began a harsh rhythm, a stream of curses leaving his mouth.   
  
Their movements rocked the bed into the wall, but Vash found that he couldn’t give a damn for his neighbor (whom he couldn’t even remember, his mind so full of haze and ecstasy).   
  
When Mello pulled out, Vash felt boneless and sweaty. He almost expected the other to leave right away, but somehow knew that wasn’t possible.   
  
There was a heavy silence in the air. Something important should have been said but neither of them knew how to approach it.   
  
Vash silently watched the other climb off of the bed, naked, to dig something out of his jacket. He was so busy eyeing the extent of the nasty burn that wrapped around Mello’s shoulder, back, and arm that he was shocked when a wrapped chocolate bar was shoved into his face. Blinking, he accepted it.   
  
He took a bite out of it and paused. “Is this mine?”   
  
Mello’s smile was sly. “Only the best.”   
  
Vash found himself imitating the expression when Mello crawled back into bed and kissed the nation on the neck. When he began in earnest, Vash set down the chocolate and stopped him with a,  
  
“Now seriously, what are you doing in Japan?”  
  
Mello’s smile slowly disappeared at that and he sat up. His voice was tight.   
  
“I can’t tell you that.”   
  
Vash nodded, equally solemn. “I thought so. But…be careful, okay?” He looked away, a faint color rising to his cheeks.   
  
“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but you’re supposed to do something great.”  
  
Mello didn’t say anything, just stared for a little while, before abruptly getting up and picking up his clothing.   
  
“I’ve got to go,” he responded hastily to Vash’s unspoken question and looked behind him.   
  
“Sorry.”  
  
He didn’t sound that apologetic, but something in his expression said it went beyond that. It was troubling and apprehension sank in Vash’s belly. Something told him that he shouldn’t, couldn’t let Mello leave, but he watched as the boy tugged on his leather pants, vest and coat.  
  
“Thanks for that, man,” The other put on a grin when he saw Vash watching him. “Now I can say fucking a country is great.”  
  
Vash frowned, but didn’t comment. He only repeated, “Be careful,” when the kid faced him fully again. Mello smirked and said,  
  
“Always,” before leaning down to kiss the nation for the last time. When they broke apart, Mello stared into Vash’s emerald eyes a bit wonderingly, like that moment so long ago, but it didn’t last long. Mello straightened up and took another chocolate bar from his coat pocket.   
  
“See ya,” he waved before exiting, leaving Vash alone in his sheets, still naked. The nation sighed and picked himself up before heading to the bathroom. He might as well clean himself up while he still had a little energy. He decided he wouldn’t mull too much over what had transpired that night, but later, in the shower, he still couldn’t manage to wash away his sense of dread.   
  
It wasn’t until a full two days later that Vash realized what it was. He had happened to turn on the television before he left his room; he had time to kill before his flight back to Switzerland.   
  
It was all over the news. Some news anchor, Takada Kiyomi, had been kidnapped and killed, and Vash watched the footage: an air shot that showed her holding onto a helmeted motorcyclist on the very same motorcycle Vash rode two nights before. He suddenly felt sick and he sat down on his bed, shocked.  
  
Vash’s first thought was that it had to be a coincidence, but he knew that it wasn’t. The report detailed how her remains were found in a delivery truck (that had apparently crashed and caught on fire) along with the unidentified driver. But Vash didn’t need to be told that it was Mello, ( _His name was Mihael Keehl, son of a Slovenian immigrant and Swiss native. He was nineteen years old and was seven when his parents were killed—_ ) and the thought left him oddly disturbed. He had dealt with numerous deaths of his citizens before but this? It put a strange chill in his bones like the death was unnatural somehow.   
  
Vash just hoped he had accomplished whatever he needed to accomplish. He was special somehow and Vash knew that he was supposed to do something great.  
  
Still feeling sick, he turned off the television, not wanting to hear anymore.   
  
It wasn’t until much later, when he was checking through his luggage to make sure he had everything that he found the barely eaten bar of chocolate. After a few moments of contemplation, and with a sad smile, he threw the bar away. It would have felt too wrong to eat it.


End file.
